


Mourn Me

by silver_x_cross



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 14:38:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5748196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_x_cross/pseuds/silver_x_cross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being immortal does not make one immune to grief.  It just makes the pain last longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mourn Me

**Author's Note:**

> From a challenge on Tumblr! For my darling Stacey who asked for an angsty Stebekah fic. It ended up slightly longer than a drabble, oops?!

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. They were both immortals, and she was unkillable. They were supposed to have the chance to finally be happy together, free from the pain and drama that had plagued their long lives. But it simply was not their destiny to have a fairytale ending. Too many enemies, too much magic, it all lead to him staring at the flames that covered her body long after her shrieks had faded away. And it hurt, more than any physical torture ever could. Stefan could hear broken sobs and it took a while for him to realize they were coming from him. 

~~~

When he woke it was not with a jolt or a start. How could it be? It had been 143 years, 5 months and 18 days since the death of his beautiful wife. That was 52,366 nights of the same dream, the memory of the moment he lost her. The agony of grief had settled into a numb ache that was as much a part of him as his heart. But he hadn’t turned off his emotions, hadn’t gone back to being the Ripper. That would only happen when all hope was lost and he was far from done yet. He would search the world, interrogate every user of every form of magic, sell his soul if that was what it took to bring her back. 143 years, 5 months and 18 days, he had not stopped looking for an answer. The dreams every night were his reminder, and his penance for failing to protect her. Every morning was the same. Stefan would wake, knock back the bourbon that would keep his bloodlust at bay, and stare at the picture of the woman he loved, taken as she had laughed brightly in the sunlight, and the same thought would consume him.

I love you, Rebekah Mikaelson Salvatore.


End file.
